


Knock First

by aurorae



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, blatant excessive creative liberty on how robots work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5412806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorae/pseuds/aurorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mettaton was going to be late for the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock First

**Author's Note:**

> besides this being an absolute nightmare posting on mobile heres a thing and tbh its sorta rushed but i did this at 3am #fiteme
> 
> after this theres gonna be more fluff posted ✌(╹ڡ╹)✌

Napstablook regarded the calendar with a small, humble smile. The date was originally circled, but sometime later, Mettaton decorated the box with a needless abundance of scribbled hearts.

They experienced a light, giddy feeling that could not be smothered by the usual dark cloud that often drifted over them. Mettaton had declined an invitation to watch the premier of his new, televised movie with everyone so he could reserve his night and watch it with _them_.

Though…they were not as rowdy as Undyne, or as cheerful as Papyrus, or even—they shook their head. Napstablook would not allow themselves to feel upset. Not now, not today.

If they could expel air, they would have heaved a confident huff!

Napstablook returned to their desktop to spend the rest of their time on the music forum sites.

And when they glanced at the clock, there was only half an hour before the movie broadcasted on television. Mettaton had yet to slam the door wide open and theatrically announce his arrival.

So they tried a minute. Then another. They even gave it an additional five minutes for extra measures.

Napstablook fidgeted, unsure whether they would inconvenience their cousin by hurrying him.

The commercial intervened before a rush of gloom could resurface. It showcased a preview for the movie, and the tagline read: ‘Don’t miss it, lovelies!’

Napstablook removed their headphones and phased through the walls. They twiddled their nubbed hands, visibly distressed for intruding. As they prepared their apology, they halted to an abrupt stop.

The ghost blanched. They nearly emitted a warbled noise, but caught themselves in time to camouflage their presence with the pink decor.

Mettaton was writhing on his mattress. His gaze was drawn to a handful of small canvases propped against the frame of his bed. Napstablook shielded their eyes, briskly drifted against the wall, then slowly retracted their hands to their sides and inspected the focus of Mettaton’s sultry expression.

Forget heaving a confident huff; if they could breathe, they would have  _choked_.

Some monster had artistically rendered them pornographically on the canvases.

Napstablook’s body trembled, but they repressed the blue flush from discoloring their transparent form. Their mouth floundered, but after some deliberation, they fortified their resolve and watched Mettaton.

* * *

A soft hum filled the quiet room: it possessed an erratic, but audible lull that resonated from the speakers on his chest plates. His eyelids were half-lidded, a touch of vertigo present as he struggled to keep himself from closing his eyes completely or throwing his head back as he immersed himself in the pulses of his self-induced, carnal trance, which dilated his heart-shaped pupils against his eyes. The radiant, pink glow in his irises experienced a fluctuating transition of colors as he panted under his breath, and when he gained a semblance of his composure, the magenta hue would reappear for a short moment.

The chamber door of his abdomen was opened. The beating heart hovered in place, and was connected to several cords protruding within the narrow containment, which provided him bodily stimulations. Mettaton held his breath as he palmed the organ before clenching his grip against his heart, then exhaled sharply through his nose and uttered a pitched squeak.

Mettaton revered the canvases with a devoted and enamored simper, though it faltered at the corners in a concentrated frown when he tenderly rubbed circles over the curvatures of the organ. “That’s it, Blooky,” he gasped, and rubbed the dip between the slopes. “Just like that, sweetie…”

Mettaton shifted his peripheral to another canvas. His precious, little ghost had been drawn with a sated, warm beam, as if they basked in the immediate afterglow of having their face coated with cum.

With his free hand, he fumbled in his search for the handle of his bedside cabinet without breaking his gaze. He blindly rifled through his belongings until he was able to fish the extension he was looking for.

The base was thick, but had the capacity to plug a stimulation cord, and was supplied with a clip at the back. Mettaton released his grip against his heart and attached the harness against his groin, and with a satisfied smirk, he glided his finger over the shaft of the strap-on. There was no physical twitch or instantaneous reaction when the robot gingerly pressed the pad of his forefinger between the slit of the silicone head. He exhibited a fond curiosity to sweep his thumb against the corona of his dildo.

After a pause, Mettaton released a stimulant cord that was plugged into the base of his chamber and reconnected the prongs to the outlet of his strap-on. With one last inspection, he craned his neck to peer over the stimulation receptors attached to both the lower and upper half of his heart, then ensuring the cords below the organ was connected to his groin.

Mettaton returned one hand to his heart, the other hand leisurely slid against the hollow linings of his pelvis. He chanted his cousin’s name lovingly, even as his breath hitched and the heels of his boots dug against the bed sheets in a vain attempt to control himself.

His drumming heart resounded through the speakers, the escalating frequency of the pulsations overpowered his low mewls.

He finally cupped his fingers around the shaft, and offered the length enthusiastic ministrations. Mettaton opened his eyes wide and released a deep groan laced by a faint, robotic rumble.

“ _Blooky!_ ” he whimpered fervently, “Oh, Blooky!”  Although his chest was heaving up and down as he panted, Mettaton gave the canvases an amatory and sloppy smile. Rutting against his hand, he hurried his pace, and alternated between rubbing the head of his dick and clenching his digits against his heart.

However, when Mettaton shifted to his side, he chanced a glance at the clock. His expression wilted.

Realization dawned over him as he gracelessly tumbled out of bed and reassembled his sensors by detaching the cords from his heart and groin. He pressed down on the cords to reinsert them into the slots in his body so the extensions can be hidden from view. Mettaton closed his chamber’s door, removed the strap-on and kicked it beneath his bed, then finally reassessed himself in the mirror. The discoloration in his eyes faded and regained its rosy pigmentation. The beating murmur echoing softly from the speakers on his chest went silent.

Mettaton washed his hands and brushed his hair. When he approved of himself with a nod, he hesitated whether he should hide his canvases, but instead, he shook his head and locked the door on his way out.

* * *

Napstablook zipped into their house and pretended that they had not just seen Mettaton touching himself moments ago.

Mettaton paraded into their home and extended his limbs to reel his cousin into his arms. With Napstablook enveloped against him, Mettaton sauntered into the living room, then situated himself on the floorboards. 

Napstablook was inattentive throughout the film. They wriggled their stubby hands into Mettaton’s clasped palms, which rested against their middle.

Mettaton’s shoulders juddered in silent laughter, then he pried his hands apart. During the commercials, he would fiddle and play with their hands.

Eventually, Napstablook’s rigidness softened. They were no longer overly-anxious, and allowed themselves to relax against him. 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry mom


End file.
